Harbors Of All Kinds
by TheVelvetDusk
Summary: "It was hard to pinpoint when exactly she'd decided that his touch was worthy of her utmost confidence, but she was sure that he hadn't steered her wrong yet." A two-part take on what could happen in 2x01. Cannon through season 1. Lyatt. (TFP)
1. Chapter 1

_a/n: this fic is brought to you by 2 prompts for the price of 1:_

 _\- Gracielinn PMed me with the following ask: So my request/prompt is for a story that features both characters reflecting on how he can't seem to keep his hands off her and what that means to both of them. (hope I got this right for you!)  
\- Contest prompt from timeless-fanfic-prompts on tumblr, which was to incorporate these lines of dialogue: "The fate of the world is in your hands." "…yikes."_

 _This fic is basically my lyatt-heavy version of what could happen in 2x01. By no means is this supposed to accurately encompass an entire episode, mostly because this is just fanfiction and I have a (often neglected) day job to attend to every once in a while, but you get the idea ;)_

* * *

She didn't shed a single tear until she was back in his arms.

Wyatt found her in the mayhem of Mason's largest conference room, cutting a straight line through the collection of techs and agents that were flurrying around the facility. All hands were on deck to make sense of the latest disaster, but he approached her with fully-focused intent, seemingly immune to the surrounding chaos as he gathered her in an all-encompassing hug.

"Where have you been?" he asked in a timbre so low that she had to concentrate to understand the question.

The story of her mother's confession spilled out in a broken, sobbing jumble. She kept herself centered in his faithful blue gaze, allowed his hands to guide her to the nearest chair before her legs could surrender to the jello-like weakness that filled her body.

It wasn't until after she'd finished recounting the hellish entirety of what she'd encountered on her trip home that she realized the extent of her audience. Agent Christoper stood solemnly across from Lucy, several agents from Homeland Security were taking notes at the farthest end of the table, and Connor Mason was stationed in the doorway with a grim frown.

Wyatt's gentle pressure on her hand brought her eyes back to his. "They have it already, Lucy. The Mothership is gone."

She nodded through a surge of nausea, another tear springing loose as she let herself accept the undeniable truth; they were going back out again, and it wasn't for Amy. It was to stop Rittenhouse. To stop her _mom_.

"Where - where to...?"

"We don't know yet," Denise answered quietly, "but we're working on it as fast as we can. I'm still trying to get a hold of Rufus, so you should get some rest in the meantime."

Lucy wiped a hand over her mascara-streaked face, almost breaking into a frenzied laugh at the idea of resting any time soon.

"Come on," Wyatt murmured with his hands on her arms, hauling her up to her feet. "You heard the orders, ma'am."

She couldn't smile or pull a faux-offended face in response to his words, just silently permitted him to take her wherever he wanted to go. Her head felt frighteningly empty now that she'd unloaded the secret of her Rittenhouse lineage for all of Mason Industries to hear, but she trusted the warm familiarity of Wyatt's arm around her.

It was hard to pinpoint when exactly she'd decided that his touch was worthy of her utmost confidence, but she was sure that he hadn't steered her wrong yet. History - both theirs and America's - told the story all on its own. He'd held her hand as she wept over the agonizing bloodshed of Abraham Lincoln. He took her arm and pulled her out of the road as they ducked into the green forests of Nazi Germany. It was his arms that had shielded her from gunfire even while he'd been struggling through the grips of a PTSD flashback at the Alamo. He'd offered a hand up to the Lifeboat as they finally made their harrowing escape from 1754. He guided her into his lap when Bonnie and Clyde had looked less than convinced by their cover story. His fingers had clutched the back of her neck and swept her into a desperate hug once Houdini had set him free from imminent death in the murder castle. And just days ago - how many had passed now, she couldn't be sure anymore - he'd kept a hand on her back as they made a hasty retreat through Washington, D.C. in the 1950s.

When looking back at it all in retrospect, was there really any doubt that she would willingly hand him the reins now when she was truly at a loss for how to operate from this point forward?

So Lucy moved with him, feet functioning on autopilot, until he opened the door to the modernly furnished sitting room that Mason used for incoming visitors. Her flagging gaze flickered around their new surroundings with half of a tired smirk. "Interesting choice..."

"If I was feeling sappy, I'd tell you that this room holds some rather fond memories for me. You know, of meeting this beautiful, high-strung professor who wouldn't stop asking me a million questions while I was trying to catch a quick nap." He brushed a hand between her shoulder blades before pulling her down onto the nearest leather couch. "But obviously I'm not the sentimental type, so practically speaking, this is the most comfortable spot in the whole place. Best choice for someone who needs to unwind a little. I know this from experience."

She shook her head with a reluctant smile, eyes sliding closed as he angled her further into his shoulder. "The last several months have been so surreal...I almost feel like I could fall asleep now and somehow wake up back in this room on that first night, still waiting for Agent Christopher to show up and tell us why we'd been brought in. The whole time travel thing - and Rittenhouse, for that matter - would be nothing more than a ridiculously wild dream that only took place in my head."

Wyatt sighed into her hair. "This probably sounds so damn selfish after what you went through tonight, but I...I can't imagine how disappointed I'd be to go backwards now, Lucy. This job has changed a lot for me... _you_ have changed a lot for me."

She nestled herself closer into him with a yawn. "I don't want you...us...going backwards either."

A minute ago, she'd been sure that sleep would never find her in the midst of so much heartache, but the immeasurable safety that existed inside of Wyatt's embrace was quickly invalidating that assumption. He was like a natural sedative to the tangle of her anxious thoughts, something akin to walking through the front door and just knowing everything will be alright because you're home again.

The last thing she recognized before fading away into the web of her exhaustion was the sensation of Wyatt's lips descending against the crown of her head.

* * *

"Lucy? Time to wake up, sleepyhead..."

He watched with the smallest of grins as her eyelids fluttered with some resistance. She made a grumbling noise into his chest, tried to burrow further into him, and then gradually gave up the fight as he gently shook her shoulder again.

There was no questioning when the reality of her recent memories snapped into focus. Lucy sprang out of his hold in the blink of an eye, both hands moving rapidly through her mussed hair as she glanced defensively around the room.

"You're okay," he spoke quietly, reaching out to trace his fingertips over her leg, "We're at Mason."

She nodded, but her brow was still furrowed guardedly in a way that fractured his heart.

Agent Christopher stepped forward with a sympathetic frown. "I wish we didn't have to ask you to do this, Lucy, but Rufus is back from the hospital and we have a location on the Mothership. I know it's soon, but - "

" _Soon_?" Wyatt asked with a trembling line of anger appearing in his voice without sanction. "Tomorrow might have been soon. This is like whiplash."

Denise pursed her lips in a way that told him she wasn't disagreeing with that statement. "Nevertheless, we have a crisis on - "

This time it was Rufus who cut her off, albeit unintentionally. He came rushing through the doorway with his eyebrows crinkled together, dropping onto the other side of the couch next to Lucy and immediately pulling her into a hug. "I am _so_ sorry, Lucy. Holy shit, your mom too?!"

Wyatt met his eyes over Lucy's head, morosely nodding his confirmation, which prompted Rufus to squeeze her even harder.

"Thanks, Rufus," came her muffled response, "...but I do need to breathe at some point, if that's okay."

He released her in a flash, both of their eyes watery as they looked each other over with humorless chuckles.

"I know this is the last thing that the three of you want to hear right now," Agent Christopher broke in slowly, "but, once again, the fate of the world is in your hands."

Rufus pressed his palm to his forehead and let out a fatigued exhale. "…yikes."

Lucy raised a hand with a weary look of acceptance. "I'm in. Where are we going?"

"Boston, December of 1773."

Wyatt grimaced at the instant horror filtering over Lucy's pale face. "What? What is it?"

"We need to go, _now_." She was already up, presumably off to the wardrobe bay for the proper attire, leaving Wyatt and Rufus to scramble after her with parallel looks of confusion.

"Lucy? Are we talking complete and utter catastrophe here or what?"

"You guys really don't know this one?" Her gaze glinted backward in expectation, darting between the two of them for a beat before her face caved with disappointment. "And so the American education system fails again. Hope you boys like tea, because if this goes poorly, we might be swimming in it by nightfall."

* * *

A jubilant battle cry rang through the air as a series of audible splashes echoed across the harbor.

"So tell me," Wyatt murmured so close to her ear that she was suddenly shivering for reasons that had nothing to do with the brutal cold that was so essential to winter in New England, "if no one got hurt here tonight, and the worst that could happen is _maybe_ a slightly altered timeline for the American Revolution, why are you so worried? You're sure that everything has gone off without a hitch so far?"

Lucy swiveled to face him as well as she could from behind the twin set of barrels that were concealing them from view, never quite used to the frustration of so many bulky layers of clothing constraining her every movement. "We have no idea what their agenda is here, Wyatt. Sure, from here it all looks the same as of right now, but maybe Rittenhouse's preferred version of the Boston Tea Party is that everyone gets arrested as soon as they come back to the wharf. What if this gets just as ugly as the Boston Massacre once they return? Do you know how many of these men are imperative to what happens in the next several years? I can't let anything happen to them, okay?"

He grasped her hand through the barrier of her woolen mittens, his azure eyes gleaming in the glow of the candlelit streetlights. " _We_ can't let that happen, and we won't."

She smiled faintly at his correction and did her best to keep her voice composed as she spoke. "I...I know it sounds silly, but this is the stuff I grew up on, you know? The American Revolution and the events that led up to it...they were like my comic books, and the ones who fought for our freedom were my version of super heroes. Not that the Sons of Liberty necessarily did everything the right way, but I...I just need this one to stay the same."

"There's something else, isn't there?"

Of course he saw the underlying strain warring within her. Wyatt noticed _everything_ it seemed, possessing an endlessly accurate radar for every unspoken thought or emotion that she held. She nodded, then dropped her eyes from his. "I'm going to be really disappointed if...if I have this wrong, and the Sons of Liberty all turn out to be the forerunners of Rittenhouse. If the real reason we're here is because present-day Rittenhouse wants to arm their ancestors with some type of advantage..."

She broke off with a dismal sigh, incapable of vocalizing that nagging thought any further. Wyatt surely knew where this was really stemming from, anyhow. The last thing she wanted to deal with now was one more fallen idol; one more grand-scale setback to the very fabric of her existence.

"That's not silly, Lucy. None of it is," he said with quiet assurance. When she looked up again, his face was just a breath away from hers, cold puffs of expelled oxygen swirling between them as they both exhaled unevenly. The harbor had gone startlingly silent, the vibrant shouts of the uprising having slowly ebbed away into the midnight sky.

Rufus rounded the corner of the adjacent alleyway a moment later, disrupting the expectant calm that had settled over the pair of them as he ducked sideways behind the nearest barrel. "Guys, you are not going to believe who I - "

"Wait, _shhh_ ," Lucy hissed as a splashing sound - one that was far more closer than any that preceded it - broke through the clammy air. "They're coming back this way."

"What's the plan exactly?" Wyatt asked, his hand already on his holster.

"To stay completely out of sight unless someone interferes with their escape," she whispered back, eyes locked on the approaching crowd of huddled bodies, the silhouette of feathered headdresses being the only distinct part of the massive outline that grew larger and larger as they advanced. "They aren't supposed to face any opposition."

Rufus leaned forward, trying to catch Lucy's eyes with a hint of desperation. "It's Emma, guys. Emma Whitmore is here."

Both Lucy and Wyatt turned to gape at the third member of their team, and before either of them could form a reply, the Sons of Liberty filed past them in a rush, scurrying into the mouth of the alley that Rufus had come through just a minute beforehand. Lucy held her finger to her lips, her eyes rounded as she watched the parade of disguises fly by on hushed footsteps. Most of the men were gone in a flash, but a few of them were staggering by much more slowly, shouldering one motionless body between them.

Wyatt titled his head by just a fraction, his eyes searching Lucy's with a silent question. She shook her head minutely, because the one detail she'd almost forgotten had just clicked into place. The lingering men ducked into a neighboring doorway, and when they reappeared after several nerve-racking seconds had ticked by, it was without the burden of the extra body.

The extra body of John Crane.

For the briefest of moments, Lucy actually remembered what it felt like to enjoy this job, to be in awe of the enchantment that came along with traveling through time and living out the stories that she'd memorized from such a young age. Here she was, hunched between a splintery barrel and an unforgiving wall, looking on as a well-beloved fragment of history took place right before her eyes.

That moment came to a screeching halt as she caught sight of a shadow stealing through the night from the other side of the wharf.

"Wyatt," she whispered, gesturing almost imperceptibly in the direction of where she'd last seen movement.

"I see it," he returned without missing a beat. "Are we not expecting anyone else?"

"No one who would need to stay hidden from the rest of the Patriots."

The figure separated herself from the inky blackness that shrouded her, stepping into a narrow cone of light, and then two more shapes came into focus from behind her just a second later.

"That would be Emma, and apparently with backup," Rufus muttered. "She must have been double or triple agent-ing Flynn this whole time...and I'm officially at a loss for words. Don't know a damn thing about a damn thing."

Lucy held her breath, willing Emma to keep moving along the docks without chasing after the freedom fighters or taking notice of the three of them.

The third option - one that hadn't entered her brain until it was already unfolding before her - was that Emma knew exactly what she had come for and had timed it in perfect succession to the Sons of Liberty's effortless escape. She was going after John Crane.

Lucy jumped to her feet as soon as Emma and her two other men slid into the carpenter's shop.

"We have to stop them from getting to him!"

"Wait, we need to protect the dead guy that just got dumped by his so-called friends?" Wyatt asked as he vaulted himself into action, trailing closely at Lucy's heels.

"It's John Crane, and he's not dead, just unconscious. He was knocked out by one of the tea crates falling on him, and they made the mistake of thinking he was a goner. He's not. He recovers, rejoins the the rebellion, and serves in the Revolution War after this."

Wyatt took her by the elbow to slow her down, his glance skimming past her to regard Rufus as well. "Okay, you two wait here while I - "

His voice broke with an ugly cracking sound, his head pitching sideways with the impact of a sucker punch from behind him.

" _Wyatt_!"

Both of the Emma's companions leapt forward, one going in for an undercut to Wyatt's jaw while the second guy took a menacing step toward Lucy and Rufus, cutting them off from attempting to come to Wyatt's aid.

"You think I didn't plan for this to happen?" Emma asked archly as she stepped into the open doorway of the carpenter's shop. "I spent the last several weeks studying the three of you under the unique tutelage of none other than Garcia Flynn himself. I brought the muscle for a reason - you people have an obnoxious habit of popping up at the worst times."

"How..." Rufus staggered a half-step closer, his voice dipping low with disbelief, "how could you do this, Emma?"

She shook her head with a hollow smile. "Your side will never win, Rufus. The sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."

With that, she nodded to the guy who wasn't currently locking horns with Wyatt just a few feet away, giving one last command before dissolving backward into the shop - "Remember, Ms. Preston is not to be harmed. Her future is with us."

Lucy shuddered, a wordless cry parting her lips at the sound of Wyatt's gun clattering to the ground and skidding across the wide planks of the dock. Rufus dashed after it, but Emma's lackey got there first, kicking the gun out of Rufus's reach and sending it into the murky water below with a sickening plunk.

"Go," Lucy yelped, throwing herself between Rufus and their adversary, her breath turning to vapor as she shouted out again, "go find backup, Rufus!"

"But you - "

"You heard her, they won't hurt me," she sputtered back, her lips trembling as she stared up into the callous eyes of the snarling man before her. "Just go!"

* * *

 _To be continued! Think of it as a commercial break, okay? Let me know what you think so far!_


	2. Chapter 2

_a/n: And we're backkk. Without further ado, the second & final chapter.  
_

* * *

 _"You heard her, they won't hurt me. Just go!"_

Wyatt somehow caught the exchange between Lucy and Rufus even though his ears were ringing with the ruthless jabs he'd taken to the head, and the thought of Lucy putting herself on the line like that was a direct shot of adrenaline through his system. As much as he admired her bravery, he also wanted to give her absolute hell for believing that these goons could be trusted to follow orders and leave her alone. That was not a wager that he'd be taking any time soon.

He ducked, grinned at the satisfying crunch of his opponent's fist smashing into the brick wall behind him, and then flung all of his weight into tackling him against the opposite side of the alley. The brunt of the impact went straight to the big lug's head, knocking him out cold and not a second too soon.

Wyatt whipped his head around at the sound of Lucy's bloodcurdling scream, his eyes widening and breath catching as he watched her arms wheeling through the air, but it was no use. The second of Emma's dumb brutes had shoved her hard enough to offset her balance and she was going down no matter how much she fought it.

Her body hit the water with a grisly splash, sending his heartbeat into its highest gear.

Biting down harshly on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from calling her name, Wyatt threw himself into the task of searching for a gun on the guy who'd been temporarily grounded, knowing that he only had another second or two before Tweedledee noticed that Tweedledum was down for the count. But as his hands raced frantically in vain to find a weapon, the grueling sound of nothing but silence set his nerves on edge. Lucy should have surfaced by now, should be flailing around or yelling for him, but the winter air was devoid of any disturbance. There was only a muted slap of water washing methodically against the boards of the dock and the echo of his own heavy breathing. All else was still.

And if that weren't bad enough, there was no gun to be found.

 _Shit_.

"Looking for something?"

The second man - the one who was responsible for Lucy's immersion into the freezing harbor - loomed over Wyatt with a gleaming pistol in hand.

 _Double shit_.

A burst of gunshots split through the adjoining alley, but it wasn't Emma's guy who had fired. The bullets were coming from somewhere behind Wyatt, and he took his chances with whomever had decided to intervene, bolting through the carnage on a straight path toward the menacing body of water that taunted him from the other end of the dock.

Rufus' panicked voice boomed through the streets - "Wyatt, get down!"

He ignored his friend's warning, eyes straining through the darkness to try to discern any sign of Lucy in the brackish reflection below, but there was nothing. Not even a ripple.

Just as he was preparing to dive in and blindly search the entire harbor - as well as every surrounding river, channel, and the whole damn Atlantic Ocean if that was what it took - there was an abrupt gasping noise to his left that ended almost as early as it had begun.

" _Lucy_!?"

He plunged into the icy depths below, feeling as if he'd landed in a giant pool of knives for how severely the bitter coldness sliced against his skin. He couldn't allow himself even the briefest instant to adjust to the temperature, just swam like a man possessed until his arms made contact with Lucy's thrashing limbs. It required far more effort than he could have fathomed to propel her up to the surface, his legs and lungs both burning with the exertion of it as they broke through to gulp in the frigid midnight air. Even then, with her arms feebly grasping for his shoulders, he seemed destined to lose her again as she threatened to go under.

"My cl -"

Her head sank lower, dousing her words with a horrible bubbling sound.

Wyatt leveraged his arms beneath her and attempted to lift her higher above the clutches of the tide. "Lucy? Lucy, you okay?!"

"It's my cloak," she panted weakly, "and all the skirts...s'too heavy..."

"Just hold on," he wheezed back, dragging her with him as he tried to bob his way over to the posts that bolstered the wharf.

Now that Lucy could actually draw a full breath, her fingers made sluggish progress on the buttons at the top of her cloak, and Wyatt could immediately feel the difference once she'd cast it off into the water.

"It's - it's all q-quilted wool," she stammered disjointedly, "I-I couldn't..."

"It's okay now. I - " he pressed his lips together for an instant, steadying himself against an all-consuming shiver, "- I've got you. We're almost there."

He pushed through the crippling chill that dizzied him, kicking with what felt like the end of his stamina as they neared the edge of the closest dock. Wyatt grabbed onto the post with a heaving breath, huddling Lucy up against him as he peered up just in time to see Emma and both of her oversized watchdogs escaping past them, dodging another volley of gunfire as they went.

One of her thugs - the jackass who Wyatt had the privilege of incapacitating not so long ago - glanced downward right as they passed, and upon seeing Wyatt, drew his gun and took aim with a warped sneer. "Say goodnight, you son of a bitch."

Wyatt urged a whimpering Lucy to the other side of the post and quickly followed after her, trying to shield her beneath the overhang of the pier as the first bullet ricocheted around them, but he was surprised to find that the maneuver was unnecessary. He could hear the click of another gun being cocked, but that was it. A second bullet never came their way.

"I will kill you _right now_ if you try that again," Emma bit out sharply from somewhere above them. "I told you already - you will not do anything to endanger Lucy Preston's life."

Without another word of argument, the boards creaked overhead with the thuds of hastened footsteps, seemingly signalling their departure. Wyatt snuck a cautious glance up over the edge of the wharf to check if the coast was clear, relieved beyond all belief to see Rufus' outstretched hand materializing right above him.

"C'mon, man. I thought I said you had to wait an hour after eating before you were allowed to go for a swim."

"Very funny, Rufus," he mumbled as coherently as he could. He didn't take Rufus's hand, but instead reached back for Lucy and tugged her through the water, giving her as much of a boost as possible until Rufus had a firm grip around her. Rufus returned for him just seconds later, pulling roughly until Wyatt could flop listlessly onto the dock.

"My brother is a doctor," an unfamiliar voice chimed in from above them, "we can take them to his house. They'll need to be treated for pneumonia."

Wyatt shook the numbing cobwebs from his head, finally able to focus - although his brain was still reacting lethargically at best - on the frowning constable who stood next to Rufus.

Rufus was shifting uncertainly, twisting his cap between his hands as he looked back and forth between his two indisposed teammates. "We, uh...we know some doctors of our own. I'll take it from here. Thank you for your help, sir."

The officer cast a wary look glance from Rufus, down to Lucy who was curled into a quivering ball and still gasping for breath, then over the Wyatt who wasn't much better off. His gaze stopped there, undoubtedly seeking confirmation from the only white male in the group.

"He's right," Wyatt said, barely getting the words out between rattling coughs. "We'll be fine."

Wyatt didn't bother with the task of convincing the constable any further. He slunk his way over to Lucy without pause, willing his frozen fingers to rub consolingly across her back. "Are you a-alright?"

She sat up just enough to catch sight of him as he crouched beside her. He wasn't sure if she nodded in reply or if that was just another unruly shiver that shook its way through her lean frame. What he did recognize for certain, however, were the traces of limitless shock magnified in her dark eyes. She only looked at him for a moment, then glanced sideways to stare out hauntingly over the deadly chasm of open water.

It hit him with the impact of a hundred bricks raining down around his head. She had almost drowned. _Again_.

"Hey, hey, right - right back here," he said, the pads of his pruned-up fingers whispering over her face until she was forced to to find him again. "Don't let yourself go there, Lucy. Look at me. We're - we're fine, okay? We're going home. You're safe."

The fear in her gaze lessened bit by bit, and instead of responding verbally, she just launched herself forward into his arms. Wyatt gathered her as close as he could, his head bowing to her shoulder and his arms trembling around her.

He'd known her for less than a year, only a collection of several months really, but for every time his skin made contact with hers, he was just a little more lost in her. Looking back on it now, he knew that she'd cracked her way into his soul from very early on, maybe as soon as he'd wrapped his hand around hers as she cried over Abraham Lincoln's assassination. When was the last time he'd willing reached for someone's hand to do nothing other than show his support? And it had only escalated from there. He kept her close to his side in Nazi Germany, using the excuse of her visible distress as a reason to pay careful attention to her at all times. She'd been the one to take his face in her hands and urge him to stay with her at the Alamo, and he'd never forget how much effort it took to pry her fingers from his cheek and tell her to get ready to run across the bullet-ravaged fort. It had startled him to realize just how alive he felt when it was then his turn to frame her face between his palms, to hold her close as Bonnie and Clyde studied them from across the room, and that was before the taste of her mouth was forever imprinted in his memory. Alive didn't even begin to cover how _that_ had felt.

And then there was the swaying hug that he'd thrown himself into when they were finally reunited at the threshold of that airless chamber in 1893, and every potent embrace that had followed since that day in Chicago. For a man who had done everything he could to cut himself off from meaningful human contact - to insulate himself from ever being hurt again by the misery of lost love - it was obvious that his plan had faltered somewhere along the way. Lucy Preston had taken an emotional grenade to his defenses, blown right past his self-imposed barricade without even trying to do so, and now here she was again, indelibly embedded upon his heart with her teeth chattering and soaked costume dripping in perfect synchronization to his. She clung to him as if he represented life itself, and he clung right back with equaled fervor.

And for as much as she was probably hoping to find some semblance of comfort or solace in his arms, what she couldn't possibly realize was how much more reassurance she was giving back to him in return; how secure and protected he felt just knowing she was still there. Her heart was racing against his, her breath - wavering but persistent - was ghosting across his neck, and no one was saying goodbye.

* * *

One scorching hot shower and a set of dry modern clothing later, and Lucy still could not subdue the shivering aftermath of taking an impromptu dip in the Boston Harbor. As relieved as she was to know that Rufus and the constable had arrived in time to stop Emma from interfering with the fate of John Crane, she had a bad feeling that nothing would be able to cut through the resounding chill that clattered through her bones, not the knowledge that history was preserved, not even a million cups of steaming coffee or the warmest bed in the entire state of California.

As it currently stood, though, she had no bed to call her own. Not in this state or anywhere else.

She hovered in the hallway after Christopher wrapped up a very speedy debrief, faced with the unbelievably bizarre dilemma of finding herself homeless - and maybe even worse, _aimless_ \- for the first time in her life.

"Come on," Wyatt appeared before her with a drowsy grin, nodding toward the exit sign and pulling her along with him. "No way are you going back to Casa Preston after this, Lucy."

"Well yeah, I wasn't exactly planning on that, but - "

"But nothing. I have a spare room...although there's nothing really _in_ the spare room yet," he admitted with a shrug, "but we'll deal with that tomorrow."

Lucy glanced back over her shoulder toward the conference room, then back at Wyatt who was doggedly undeterred. "I should talk to Agent Christopher and - "

"She already agreed that you could come with me. Takes a lot less manpower on her end to provide one set of security detail for the both of us. Do you know what kind of hell it is to try and encompass an entire hotel property with the necessary measures and precautions?"

The corner of her mouth lifted without her permission as he propped the door open for her. "No, can't say that I've ever dealt with that particular hassle."

"Trust me, it's a nightmare," he said emphatically, crossing behind her and gesturing across the parking lot. "And aside from the daily pillow mints, living out of a cramped little hotel room sucks anyway. You can do better than that."

Her brain must have still been half frozen, because even though she knew should have been fighting harder to assert herself, the reasons to tell him no were stuck somewhere beyond her reach. Either that, or she hadn't really wanted to say no in the first place.

Wyatt had her by the hand now, his fingers interlocking with hers, and she was momentarily jealous of the fact that he was thawing out from the jump much faster than she was. That jealousy quickly evaporated, however, when she realized just how much of his warmth was already radiating into her skin, lulling her into quiet contentment as he led her along the cement path.

They were only steps away from his Jeep now, and she knew she had to give him one last out. This was a big deal, after all. It was _Wyatt_. For as much as she trusted and respected and cared for him, he was still the same man that she had met at the beginning of all this - the man who had lost his wife in such a devastating manner and had never quite recovered in the years that had followed her murder. Regardless of the cautious optimism she held for what might someday develop between them, Lucy couldn't bank on the fact that he was anywhere near ready for something as invasive as hosting her in his apartment, especially when she had no idea how much time she would need before things eventually settled down for her.

"I...I don't want to impose, Wyatt."

He turned, that trademark smirk brightening his face as he addressed her. "Impossible. You are welcome to crash with me for as long as you need it. In fact, I'd be offended if you went anywhere else."

She was smiling in spite of the doubts that were surely surfacing in her eyes. "That's very generous, but how can I ask you to do that? To put up with a house guest for God knows how long? You're honestly telling me that you want to spend all of your working hours _and_ all of your free time with a bossy know-it-all like me?"

He stopped short of his vehicle by just a half of a step, pivoting to look her squarely in the eyes. "That is _exactly_ what I want. I wasn't kidding the last time I said it, Lucy. I'm open to whatever comes next. I think we both know that there's...there's something going on between us..."

"Yeah?" she asked softly, leaning closer with baited breath.

"Of course," he murmured back earnestly. "And obviously there's no obligation for anything to happen just because you're staying with me. I - well I don't mean that something will or won't happen, but you've been through a lot lately, so I just...we'll figure it out, okay? No pressure. For now you need a place to go and I have one. And yeah, I care about you so - "

Lucy drifted a hand over his shirtfront and slanted her mouth over his, moving without thinking, submitting herself to the uncharacteristic need for action over discussion. He didn't seem to mind the interruption. His responding kiss was just as breathlessly exhilarating as she'd remembered. His hands curved down her back as his lips met hers over and over again, fingers dipping into the curve of her spine before slipping under her sweater and bringing her forward into the wall of his sculpted torso.

Wyatt hummed against her mouth with a heavy sigh before breaking away, but he made no move to release her body from where it rested against his. " _God_ , Lucy..."

The flood of reservations that she'd somehow squashed down a moment ago all came crashing back into her head at the sound of his gravelly voice in her ear. "I...I'm sorry if - "

"There's no need for that, ma'am."

She could hear the smile that illuminated his words without having to crane back for a real look at it. "You sure?"

"Positive." He took a tiny step backward, his dimpled expression reflecting in the lights that flecked across the exterior of the compound. "Glad that's settled. So I'm sure that we can arrange a little shopping trip for you in the morning, but in the meantime, I should be able to lend you a few essential items."

"A _little_ shopping trip?" Lucy aimed a too-sweet smile in his direction. "I was thinking we could probably kick the day off with a few hours at Union Square, hit all of the big stores there, take a lunch break, then drive over to Fillmore Street for a while to see what's new there and - "

Wyatt reeled her back in with his hands sinking lower to her waist. "This was working better for me when there was less talking."

She was laughing as he nipped playfully at her mouth, but then quickly gave herself over to his kiss as his tongue teased its way across her lower lip. The gentle, disarming touch of his lips on hers slowly built in intensity, becoming more and more mesmerizing and hypnotic with each passing second. Before she knew it, her shoulders were melding into the frame of his Jeep as his hands cradled the back of her head. The bristle of his day-old stubble scratched over her cheek and the friction of his tongue against hers ignited a forgotten flame from deep inside that she'd long ago dismissed as intangible. If it weren't for the sanctuary of his arms and the assistance of the vehicle at her back, she may have just floated away right then and there.

His mouth left hers with notable reluctance, his breath coming hot and fast against her cheek as he let out a labored groan. "And here I was worried that I'd be too rusty at this..."

Lucy was smiling wryly as she smoothed her hands over his shoulders. "No complaints here."

He helped her up into the Jeep after another spellbound kiss, then made his way around to the driver side with his gaze never leaving hers through the glass pane of the windshield. His blue eyes were solemn as he climbed in next to her, his hand immediately finding hers from across the cab.

"Obviously we don't know exactly what's in store for us now that Emma has the Mothership and Rittenhouse is pulling the strings, but I want you to know I'm here, Lucy, no matter what. In case you didn't quite catch it before we jumped to Boston, I need you to hear it now. I don't want to go backwards with you. Only forward. It might be a..." he swallowed for a moment, his throat bobbing as he worked through a flicker of emotion, "...a slower version of forward than if I had met you at another point in my life, but it will be forward."

Misty-eyed and almost moved beyond words, Lucy watched him intently through the dimly lit vehicle. Her hand trembled inside of his, but it wasn't because she was still too cold to hold it steady. No, it was because she wanted to keep her hand right there, firmly held and unspeakably sheltered, for as long as the foreseeable future would allow. "I...I think I met you just when I was supposed to."

Wyatt's thumb sketched a line across her knuckles. "Something like fate? A higher power?"

"Maybe even the Force..." she said in a low, teasing voice.

"Maybe," he grinned easily before leaning over the center console to kiss her once more.

Whatever it was - God or the cosmos or perhaps even the power of the Jedi - Lucy was sure that someone or something had been up there calling the shots in her favor on the night that Wyatt Logan had walked into her life. With every passing moment, it became increasingly clear that he was meant to be here with her, a safe and reliable harbor for her to take cover in as she weathered the difficulties of this storm.

* * *

 _The end! Livin' for those reviews, friends :)_


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